She was asleep at her desk. She could feel the hard chair underneath her body, and she just didn't want to move. Her eyes were closed, and she could hear the hum of the lights above her. It felt peaceful without the hustle and bustle of testosterone. She knew she should go back to her warm flat, linger between the sheets and dream of burning jackets, but she just couldn't seem to move. She felt so at peace here.

"Beautiful. Perfect."

She had never heard Gene say those words before. Not describing her at any rate, maybe the Quattro at a push. She was just a mouthy tart who he wanted to slap on occasion. But she smiled as she leant into his touch, feeling the warm of his hands. She nuzzled against him, smiling. Maybe they could talk things out between the two of them, and he could explain things about Sam Tyler to her, what he had said to the copper lying in the gutter with a bullet. Maybe she could fulfil that fantasy she had had all those years ago when she thought it was Evan in her bed, but it was Gene next to her in the red sheets.

"I know it's hard, but we're going to have to keep going at it. Together."

Together. That's the word she had been looking for. Together. She wanted to be with Gene in more ways than just the obvious. She hadn't come back to see Shaz or to teach Ray to be a better man; she had come back for him. She had come back for Gene Hunt. She smiled for a moment, feeling the pads of his fingers run over her eyelids.

Alex opened her eyes.

"Alex, you are so beautiful."

It wasn't Gene.

It was Keats.

He moved forward from where he was sitting on her desk and pressed his lips toward hers. They felt rough, chapped, and Alex didn't like the feeling of them against her skin. She was still waking up so she didn't move fast enough, and by the time she had gathered her senses, Keats had taken that as encouragement and was pressing his slithering tongue against her mouth. She pushed against his shoulder but he grabbed her hand and held it within his own, pressing it hard against the table. She tried to struggle, and as Keats pressed firmer against her, she pushed back and his teeth caught her bottom lip, causing a ripple of pain to go through her.

The door to the CID office burst open, and in came Gene. He was wearing the same shirt as he had been earlier, the dark against the pale of his skin. At the sound of the interruption, Keats had moved away from Alex, allowing her to catch her breath and rip her hand back. He looked at the situation and turned to Keats for some sort of explanation. Jim just smiled, nodding towards Gene. He squeezed Alex's shoulder before moving out of the doors. Gene watched her, in some sort of shock at the scene that he had come upon.

Alex raised her right hand and felt her lip. It felt a little bruised, and there was blood coming off of her fingers. She could taste metal in her mouth, overall she didn't feel good. She felt dirty, and she needed to get out, get home and organise her whirring thoughts. She reached for her jacket and her bag without replying to Gene and moved forward towards the doors. But he reached for her and grabbed her wrist, trying to stop her. She cried out, and realised that it was sore from the force of Keats' hand. Gene removed his at once, but kept her gaze.

"Bols. Please. Trust me."

Gene had taken two steps forward and was reaching out his hand to her. Alex exhaled before she took it with her good hand and instantly felt safe with the pressure of his around her own. He took her back into his office, and sat her down in his chair. She didn't know what was going to happen, but when he came back it was with a cold flannel. Gene reached over and wiped the blood that was dribbling over her lip, and then pressed it to her wrist.

"I need a good arm better than your pretty mouth Bolly."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. That was the Gene she knew: the loud, drunk police officer who played fast with the rules but always for the best. She didn't know this new Gene, with the dark shirts and the lighter in his pocket burning evidence. With secret words to share and a haunted look in his eyes. She missed the uncomplicated, where this was all in her head and she could do what she wanted as she knew she would be going back to Molly soon.

"You took my hand. Does that mean we're friends again?"

"Where we ever?"

She saw his arm stiffen, and he left her to place the flannel against her own wrist. She had said something wrong. Gene looked at her, leaning against the walls of his office. "I liked to think we were Bols. I liked to think we were friends with a healthy dose of manly lust for each other. I don't like secrets."

"Neither do I."

They sat in silence of a moment, with Alex resting the flannel on her wrist. It still hurt, and she tried to force down a whimper: Gene didn't appreciate weakness. But when she exhaled a sharp breath, his head whipped down to look at her and he walked the few paces over to see how she was. When Gene removed the cloth, she could see some bruises were coming up over her hand and wrist, and she saw his eyes flash dark. He scrunched it up and pressed it to her lip, softening the roughness of Keats on her body. She still felt dirty, but she ached with something more than the bruises Keats had created on her skin. She needed Gene: colleague, lover, friend, whatever this world held for their relationship. She needed him as much as he apparently needed her.

"Before you shot me, Gene, I told you something. We haven't talked about it, haven't even mentioned it."

"You're crazy Bols, what I chalk it up to."

Gene moved over to find two glasses and whatever alcohol was hanging around. He poured her a glass and pushed it across the table to her. She took a sip gratefully, happy that the burning liquid was warming her up, distracting her from her thoughts. Alex put the glass back on the table and looked at Gene, needing to sort things out between them before it grew worse than before.

"Tell me Gene; tell me why you are scared. Tell me the truth, and maybe we can move on from things. We can start to trust each other again."

Gene smiled at her and put his glass down on the table. "I'll play a game with you Alex. 'Quid Pro Quo', I think it's called in your fancy speak. I like to think of it as 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'."

Alex grinned, laughing a little, and she saw his eyes sparkle. She took another sip of her drink. "Alright Hunt. You're on. Terms?"

He moved from where he was sitting and went to sit on his desk, right by Alex's elbow. She thought back to what she had been dreaming of, Gene's hands on her skin with pressure but comfort. She hadn't wanted Keats all over her; she had wanted the Gene Genie. Gene looked at her arrogantly, taking another mouthful of his drink. "I will tell you what happened to Sam Tyler if you give me one simple answer."

"You're on." Alex didn't think for a minute that this would work, but she was willing to play along.

"Do you want me?"

Alex pressed the flannel closer to her lip, trying to stem swelling. She wanted to answer the question, she wanted to reach up and touch his face. But her hand still hurt and her mouth ached, so she just stood up and looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."

"Liar," he replied, taking another sip of his drink.

She nodded, but she could see that his demeanour had changed. He was holding himself better, trying to catch the light in a good way. If the situation wasn't so serious, she would have found his attempts to impress her hilarious. But she continued to play the game. "Did you kill Sam Tyler?"

Gene put the glass down, crossed his arms over his body and looked at her. "No, Bols, I bloody well did not."

Alex moved the cloth away from her mouth. "Liar."

She expected him to get irate at her words, but he just grinned, smiling at the little game they had been playing. It was only when he turned to look out the window for a moment did she realise Gene had been trying to distract her from her pain. Alex took the cloth away and put it down on his desk. She needed to get home, to sleep in her own bed and have a bath - wash away the stench of Keats from her skin. She rested her hand on Gene's shoulder. "Thank you Gene, for helping."

"That's what friends do, isn't it?"

"It is, you're quite right."

Her hand lingered on the door handle, not sure if she wanted to go further. Things had been strained between them ever since Keats had turned up, and she missed being with Gene, being part of his world, his life, his fantasies. So she turned around, and true enough Gene was watching her. He put his glass down, and walked to join her by the door.

"Truth, Alex. Do you want me?"

Alex tilted her chin up, her heart racing. Her lip was still sore, her wrist painful. She wanted to gain the upper hand, something that Gene wasn't used to with women. But Gene was standing so close to her, and every part of her ached for him. "No. Did you kill Sam?"

"Yes."

She didn't know what to make of his answer, but she didn't care as he was soon pressing his mouth to the tendons in her neck, lathing his tongue over her skin. The normal places he could kiss her were broken, bruised, so he had gone to the next best thing. As she groaned under his touch, Gene grinned and squeezed one of her breasts. As his hands were moving over her chest to undo her buttons, there was some noise from the other room and the distinct sounds of detectives could be heard. Gene's head moved from her chest up to look at her, and he kissed the corner of her mouth, the side not ripped by Keats' ministrations.

"Do you trust me Alex?"

"I trust you with everything. Even my heart."

She walked out of his office and moved to the nearest bathroom, where she applied more tissue paper to her swollen areas. When the rawness of the wounds had gone down, she went back to CID and found Gene sitting in his office, smiling to himself. As she went over the files sitting on her desk, Alex smiled too, thinking about Gene and his touch. Their eyes met across the office, before they continued catching criminals in Fenchurch East.

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